


Two Strangers; One Car

by GodzillaDez



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27195241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodzillaDez/pseuds/GodzillaDez
Summary: The state needs to fix I65. The road is a death trap and a traffic jam each week. Clarke finds herself in them again and again, but finds entertainment in a knight-in-shining armor.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 45





	Two Strangers; One Car

I65 was deadly. There were multiple accidents each week that shut down lanes of traffic. Clarke had grown used to being parked at a standstill for an hour or more. She left her house 45 minutes earlier than she needed to each morning to ensure a prompt arrival, and even that only worked 70% of the time. So she wasn’t surprised when she rounded the corner and found a mile of flashing hazard lights in front of her.

Her sketchbook sat in the bag on the passenger side floor and she put the car in park – careful to turn on the hazard lights first. She flipped through the sketchbook idly, trying to find an unfinished piece she could work on in case traffic started moving quickly. But she hadn’t had much time to stress between work and getting her masters and traffic hadn’t been bad enough to be at a standstill for long periods of time recently. The book held no task to occupy her time. She glanced at the cell phone in the seat next to her but remembered her resolution to be on social media less and scowled. Instead, she surveyed the area. 

In the right lane was a yellow VW Beetle. The occupant of the car had shaggy brown hair and appeared to be in his mid 20’s. Too old for the type of hair style he sported. His car windows shook with the bass of whatever song he listened to while he headbanged and Clarke laughed. His attention was taken by the song and she turned her head to look at the left lane.  
Another man with brown hair occupied the car in the left lane. It was a reasonable silver sedan with a scrape across the back passenger door. She could see across the entire front seat to where he was scowling down at the phone in his hand. His hair was much darker than the rock-star-boy-man and it complemented his gorgeous dark tone. He was tall – his hair brushed the roof of the car – and he had excellent cheekbones. Clarke said to herself, “Delicious.” 

She glanced ahead on the road and noticed no cars moving. The wreck must have occurred at the hairpin turn in the road right after it narrowed to two lanes to make it through the high rock faces the road cut through. Wrecks often occurred there and frequently blocked the entire road while emergency vehicles raced from the other side. Knowing it would be at least an hour before the road was unblocked, Clarke sent a quick text to Roan and Octavia to let them know she’d be late to the gallery. She glanced back at the man. He wasn’t looking her way. He’d put the phone down and was glaring at the traffic in front of him as he could move the cars with his mind like Magneto. Clarke extracted her sketch pencil from the glovebox and began.  
An hour later, when the car in front of hers brake lights flashed red, Clarke had sketched the side of his face and the inside of his car. It wasn’t perfect. She wished she had more time to work on the way his hair curled at the front and back. But it was fine for an hour stuck in traffic sketching a stranger she’d never see again. In her sketch, he glowered at the traffic. The viewer couldn’t see the traffic around him or the situation he was in, but the set to his jaw and the furrowing of his brow made it clear he was trying to burn the world with unknown psychic powers.  
Once at work, Clarke greeted Roan and Octavia with a regaling of the traffic jam and the awful accident that followed. Octavia informed her, “My brother was caught in that same jam! He was texting me the entire time absolutely pissed!” 

The next horrific traffic jam was on her way home from work a few weeks later. The cool spring weather had grown to a monstrous heat wave that coincided with the depletion of the coolant for her air conditioner. Raven agreed to take care of it that weekend but Clarke was two days short of Saturday when the accident brought traffic to a standstill. Just as Clarke’s bladder filled and her car warned her that she’d soon be out of gas. She growled, “You have to be kidding me.” 

She called Raven first. She didn’t answer. She followed it by calling Jasper and then Monty. Then Jasper. And, finally as a last resort, Murphy. 

“Why are you calling me?” he demanded. 

“Thanks, Murph. You act like we aren’t friends or something,” she snorted. 

“You don’t call me. You text me.” 

“So that’s how you know it’s an emergency, don’t you,” she snarked back. 

“Fine. What’s your emergency, blondie?” In spite of their aggressive phone conversation, Clarke and John Murphy were friends. Usually. They liked to drink together when they felt sad – which was often. 

“I’m stuck on I65…” 

“When aren’t you?” he interrupted. “That’s hardly an emergency.” 

“Shut up and listen. I’m stuck on I65 and I’m almost out of gas. Like the car is giving me an alert message about it.” 

Murphy was silent but Clarke could hear him typing on his ever-present computer. After a moment, he grunted and gave a dark chuckle. He said with a tone that was too pleased for Clarke’s comfort, “Five car pileup. You’re not getting out of there for hours.” 

“You’re kidding.” 

“Nope. Text me when it’s clear. I’ll bring gas.” 

“You suck.” 

“You suck worse.” He hung up and Clarke was left in a car that began to rapidly heat up. With a groan, she opened the door and leaned out, craning to see above the other cars. 

“It’s no use,” a friendly voice caught her attention. Two cars ahead of her was the floppy haired boy-child from the traffic accident before. He leaned out of her window and she recognized him with a start. It was Raven’s cheating ex. She hadn’t recognized him in the traffic jam, her attention quickly turning to the man in the other car. He recognized her too, her disgusted face had appeared in the return picture after he sent her an unasked for dick pic. Raven’s middle finger appeared in the second Snapchat and he’d gotten the message. It took a year for Raven to recover. 

“Hey, Clarke,” he said awkwardly. 

Clarke slid back into her car and slammed the door. It was only minutes later that Finn knocked on her window. She resolutely ignored him, staring down at her phone while she scrolled through social media. The resolution had already been broken. But then, her phone flashed the alert that the battery was soon to die and she groaned. 

“I just want to talk!” he said through the window. 

“Go away, Finn! I don’t want to talk!” 

“It’s been a year! Just talk to me.” 

“Go away, Finn!” 

Clarke closed her eyes and gripped the steering wheel, counting slowly to 10. “We were getting along great! It was an accident and…” 

She counted backwards from 10 next. But Finn was still there. Her vision reddened. Just as she opened the door to get out and yell at him, the tall man she had sketched stormed over. He shoved Finn hard, knocking him out of the way and shouting, “What the fuck are you doing, dude?” 

Finn raised his hands and said quickly, “Look, I know her.” 

“And it’s clear she doesn’t want to know you!” 

Clarke opened the door and jumped between the men as Finn argued, “I’m just trying to talk to her!” 

“Finn, go away,” Clarke ordered. “You’re being a creep!” 

When Finn took a step towards Clarke again, one long, tanned, and muscled arm reached up to push at him while the other circled her waist to move her out of the way. Finn got the message and returned to his car to sulk and scowl. The tall hero didn’t take his eyes off of him until he’d returned to the car and his arm stayed slung around Clarke’s waist. Finally, when the door slammed shut, the limber man released her waist and turned to her for the first time. The depths of his dark velvet eyes sent a tingle down Clarke’s spine. She imagined a large canvas, a lot of paint, and a shirtless hero. 

“Are you okay?” his voice rumbled deep from his chest. Clarke admired his neatly trimmed goatee. It matched the color of his dark, loose curls. He was a wonderland of rich, deep color. She wanted to drape him in deep reds and golds. Though not too much. Freckles danced across his nose and high cheekbones. 

“Yeah.” Clarke’s voice was shaky but she steadied herself by leaning back against the hood of her car in what she hoped look casual. “Thanks to you.” 

“Any time. What the hell was that guy’s problem?” 

“He tried to fuck me. I met him at a party, he got my Snapchat information, we had a social media thing for a couple days.”

“So what happened?” 

“I met his girlfriend. He was her phone’s lock screen,” Clarke replied drily. 

“Ouch.” He winced. 

“Yeah. But I got a best friend out of it. Raven is awesome.” 

“Well that’s a win.” 

He leaned against the door of her car to continue the conversation and she asked, “What’s your name, Mr. Knight in Shining Armor?” 

“So that makes you the princess then doesn’t it?” he teased in return. 

“I guess every knight does need a princess,” she flirted. 

“Then you can call me, Sir Bellamy. Dost the lady have a name?” 

Clarke giggled and felt like she was in high school instead of in her mid-20’s. “Clarke.” 

“Are you Princess Superman?” 

Clarke rolled her eyes. Bellamy – clearly able to read the room better than Finn – changed the topic. “Can you see anything?” 

“Five car pile-up,” she answered with a grimace. “I called my friend about it. My car’s about to run out of gas and this won’t be cleared for hours.” 

“Now that sucks. Do you have another knight in shining armor coming your way when this clears up?” Bellamy’s smirk was softened by the curiosity in his voice. 

Clarke snorted. “Barely. My friend John might come if my phone doesn’t die first.” 

“Damn, princess. Do you have any luck?” 

Clarke laughed. She replied, “Rarely.” 

“You know, I have room in my front seat. And I have a couple car chargers in the glovebox. I’m just there.” He pointed to the car to the right of Clarke’s. She pretended not to know it was his. 

“Well you do have a comfortable looking horse, Sir Bellamy.” 

It was only 10 minutes later that they were passionately arguing about the merits of different types of nut butter. The air conditioner cooled their faces, but not their passion. Bellamy argued, “I can’t believe you think sunflower butter is better than almond butter! How do you get past that taste?” 

“Almond butter has that texture though! I can’t believe that’s how you eat your breakfast!” 

Clarke’s phone beeped, interrupting their argument. She glanced down to find the text from Murphy. Got called into work. She groaned. 

“More bad luck, huh, princess?” 

“The only kind I have.” 

She texted Raven. Bellamy lent her the extra charger in his car, explaining “My little sister keeps a charger in here.” 

“What’s going on?” he asked, the sincerity in his voice making her smile. 

“My friend who was going to bring me gas can’t now. He got called into work at the bar so I’m trying my other friend and then I’ll try triple A. They’ll take hours after the wreck,” Clarke groaned. “Please let Raven answer.” 

They waited a few moments without talking but Clarke’s phone received no messages. Bellamy offered, “You can let me continue being your knight in shining armor. When traffic starts moving, I’ll let you in front of me so you can pull off in the grass. I’ll take you to the gas station off the nearest exit and you can get gas so you can make it home.” 

“Only if Raven doesn’t answer,” Clarke agreed conditionally. 

“Only if,” Bellamy replied with a nod. “So, other than your terrible taste in nut butter.” 

Clarke snorted and he accused, “Child.” 

“You know you want to laugh too.” 

Bellamy grinned and continued, “Other than that and the fact that you have terrible taste in ex boyfriends, tell me about yourself.”

“Finn is not my ex-boyfriend,” Clarke said quickly. “He’s some loser who was trying to hook up with me while he was dating somebody else. My friend actually, the one who might or might not text  
me back.” 

“Wow, what a douche. How’d you guys meet?” 

“It’s really cliché,” Clarke warned. “We met at a frat party Junior year of college. I did body shots off of him at a party. He got my snapchat and we flirted back and forth. He forgot to mention his super-genius girlfriend who was at a NASA-sponsored internship until January. We were in line together at the cafeteria and I saw her phone background – his face. We got to talking, realized what was happening, and confronted him as he sent me an unasked for dick pic. It was pretty brutal.” 

Bellamy whistled low. “That sucks. How long were you talking to him?” 

“A couple months. It sucked to find out. He came around a lot at first, trying to apologize. Except he wasn’t trying to apologize to Raven, who he’d been with for years before he met me. It made me feel slimy and gross. Eventually my friend Roan chased him off and it’s been two years since I’ve seen him.” 

“He seems like he’s still a jackass,” Bellamy observed. 

“Very much so,” Clarke agreed. 

“What did you get your degree in?” Bellamy was turned sideways in his seat with one leg tucked beneath of him. His long, slender fingers drummed on the steering wheel occasionally. His dark curls hung over one rich brown eyes and the dimming light cast shadows and gold across his exquisite jawline and cheekbones. He leaned towards her and she found herself returning the posture. Clarke’s hands almost itched for her sketchbook and pencil. 

“Art and art history. I have a minor in biology.” 

“That’s different,” he commented. 

“I thought I was going to be a doctor. I got enough biology credits to get a minor before I realized I hated it.” 

“Wow,” Bellamy whistled low again. “You know, you really do have bad luck.” 

She chuckled. “I told you so.” 

The pause between their back-and-forth stretched for a moment before Clarke added, “But I guess my luck wasn’t all bad today. I met you and my phone is charged and I’m not sitting in a sweltering hot car.” 

At that, Bellamy grinned – a true grin showing his gleaming white teeth. It emphasized the dimples in his chin and cheeks. “I’m glad to be your knight in shining armor, princess.” 

Before Clarke could respond, her phone vibrated in her hand. She glanced down and groaned once again. 

“More bad news?” Bellamy asked. 

“My specialty. Raven is on a camping trip with her new boyfriend. It was a spur of the moment thing.” 

Bellamy nodded slowly. Then, he replied, “You know, there’s a diner off that exit too. Right by the gas station. I haven’t eaten, have you?” 

“Not since lunch.” 

“We should get dinner,” Bellamy said confidently. “Put a little good luck in your day.” 

It was Clarke’s turn to grin. She nodded happily. The time in traffic passed quicker than either thought it would. The conversation flowed continuously. Bellamy told Clarke about his childhood – vague on some details but Clarke understood that it had been rough, that he’d cared for his younger sister, and that his parents weren’t the best. She told him about losing her father and best friend within a year of one another, living up to expectations that didn’t meet her goals. They talked about stress, family, friends, and a lifetime working. Jokes fell alongside passionate debates about details. They found similarities in their ethics, their beliefs, their political affiliation. 

Dinner was much of the same. The small diner was crowded with people who’d had the same idea as them. They sat in a small booth and laughed over burgers. Bellamy snorted and finally caught his breath to ask, “You just hit him in the throat?” 

“I told him that if he touched me, I was going to hit him in the throat!” Clarke defended herself emphatically. “He knew what was coming.” 

“Did he know you were underage when you hit him?” Bellamy questioned. 

“He found out when I got kicked out of the club,” Clarke’s voice broke with a peal of laughter. 

They swapped stories. Clarke’s often featured her late best friend Wells and Bellamy gave the highlights of life with his sister “O.” Clarke wondered what O stood for. The only person with an O name she’d ever met was Octavia who worked at the museum. As Bellamy gave details, Clarke began to piece together an image of a dark haired woman with the same high cheekbones. Finally, Clarke asked, “Is your sister’s name Octavia? Is it Octavia Blake?” 

Bellamy’s eyes widened in surprise. “Yeah! I didn’t tell you my last name?” 

“No! I work with Octavia!” 

“Is your last name Griffin?” Bellamy replied in surprise. 

“Yeah! Clarke Griffin. I can’t believe we didn’t share our last names.” 

“O – Octavia – always calls you Griffin. I can’t believe nicknames are why we didn’t realize the connection before.” 

“It is such a small world. And, if you know Octavia then you know Murphy. She told me she took you to the bar Murphy works at.” 

“Is Murphy’s first name John?” Bellamy questioned incredulously. 

“Yep! And let me guess, he mentioned a friend he called ‘blondie’.” 

“How have we not met?” 

“I don’t know! I bet we would have soon though. Octavia said that her brother is going to be at the gallery opening next week.” 

“And since you work there, we would have bumped into each other for sure.” 

“A lot fewer options for a knight in shining armor at an event like that,” Clarke joked. 

“I don’t know about that,” Bellamy teased. “You seem to have pretty bad luck. I better stick close at that opening. Somebody needs to make sure you don’t get into trouble.” 

Bellamy’s grin was soft and sly at the same time. One eyebrow quirked and he leaned on his elbows conspiratorially. Clarke smiled in return and replied, “I think that is a pretty good idea. I always say I could use somebody to keep me out of trouble.” 

“Consider me your guy.” 

Dinner shifted to flirtatious and debating turned to teasing. When they returned to her abandoned car, he lingered while she emptied the gas can into the tank. She returned the gas can to the trunk and Bellamy leaned against the hood of his car parked behind hers. 

“Thank you again,” Clarke said, drawing out the goodbye. 

“It isn’t a problem.” Bellamy pulled his lower lip between his teeth. 

“I can’t believe it’s already 8:30,” Clarke said awkwardly. 

“Me either. You know, you should give me your phone number.” Bellamy quickly added, “So I know you get home safe. This road is terrible. There’s a wreck once a week on it.” 

“If not more,” Clarke agreed. She stepped closer so Bellamy could hand her his phone. When she handed it back, Bellamy said sweetly, “Seriously though, let me know when you get home. I’ll be  
worried until I know for sure. I’m going to text you so you have my number too. Be safe.” 

“I will. See you next week.” Clarke walked backwards to her door, smiling and waving. Bellamy’s gaze remained intensely on her. When she drove away, he remained in the rearview mirror, leaning against the hood of his car and studying hers. 

Clarke had been at work since 7 am. There were so many things to consider when introducing a new artist and Lincoln – Octavia’s discovery and boyfriend – deserved the best. When Bellamy stopped by to deliver donuts earlier, he’d seen her in her work clothes – dress pants and a light blue blouse. However, an hour before opening the women and Roan had taken their turns in the small staff bathroom on the second floor of the studio. Clarke emerged in a soft blue wrap dress. It stopped at midthigh and she’d slid on her most comfortable heels. Octavia insisted on braiding their hair to match so Clarke’s blonde hair was held back in a long fishtail. Clarke’s blue eyes were ringed with shades of emerald. 

“You look awesome!” Clarke was still greeting people at the entrance as they walked by. Raven and Murphy were some of the first in line. Clarke winked at her and ushered her in. Bellamy was near the end of the line, dressed in khakis and a black button down. 

“Wow, princess,” Bellamy said softly, his voice reverent. “You look amazing.” 

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” She replied, her cheeks warming under his gaze. “I’ll see you inside.” 

She greeted the last of the guests and found Bellamy waiting for her with a glass of champagne. Octavia spoke at the front of the room to introduce Lincoln and then Lincoln spoke briefly about the inspiration for his work and the charity he supported. Then guests mingled while they perused the eye opening photographs and mixed media work. 

“You know, the guy makes it hard for an older brother to hate him,” Bellamy murmured by her side. “He works with indigenous tribes to raise awareness of the issues facing them. He donates 75% of  
his profits back to the tribes he works with. And he’s good to my sister.” 

“Don’t act so excited,” Clarke teased. They’d spent the week texting back and forth as time allowed. Clarke knew how protective he was over Octavia. 

“I’m just glad to have somebody else to keep me distracted this evening,” Bellamy teased in return, his grin turning sly. “Keeps me from looking like a creep.” 

Clarke stepped closer to him and smiled up at him. Her tone remained light when she replied, “I don’t know if I can keep that from happening.” 

He laughed and leaned forward slightly, bringing them closer still. “You could at least keep me distracted then.” 

“Now that I’m good at.” 

“Do you want to continue distracting me after this event?” Bellamy proposed. “There’s a great diner nearby.” 

“Do you know every diner within 100 miles?” 

“Only the good ones.” 

The event went beautifully. Lincoln sold all of his art, the bidding reaching all time highs. Clarke mingled well with the guests, Bellamy at her side as her date. He had offered her arm to him and she remained close at his side throughout the night. When conversations with guests lulled, Bellamy Blake had an uncanny ability to find a new question to ask them. Octavia had heard all about their meeting from Bellamy but she still said coyly, “I see you’ve met my brother. You make a cute pair.” 

When the final guest left, Bellamy lingered near the doors while she finished last minute tasks. It was nearly midnight when they exited and Clarke lamented, “That diner of yours is probably closed.” 

“Do you like Italian food?” Bellamy asked. 

“You know an Italian restaurant open this late?” 

“I know somebody who makes great Italian food who’d like more time with you.” 

“Do you now?” 

Bellamy gave her his address to enter into the GPS on her phone. The drive to his apartment was filled with both of them wondering what they were getting into. What they were starting. But those thoughts disappeared when they stepped out of their cars moments apart. Italian food was long forgotten by the time they got to his apartment door. It had barely closed behind them before Clarke grabbed his wrist. She pulled him back to her and then captured his lips swiftly, standing on her tip toes to do so. They kissed deep, her lips parting to welcome his tongue. His hands circled her waist, fingers stretching and flexing against the dress. His movement inched the fabric up from her thighs. She moaned into his mouth and Bellamy clutched her tighter. 

Her hands rested against his chest first and then tightened into fists, keeping him to her tight. When they pulled away for breath, their faces were flushed and their eyes were equally wild. Clarke suggested, “Let’s do Italian food tomorrow.” 

“I’d rather eat something else instead,” Bellamy said, his voice low and heavy. His fingers grasped her ass and lifted her so she could circle his waist with her legs. From there, he carried her into the  
bedroom.


End file.
